Lacto Lenten Luncheon

Fanny wasn't a fan of Mrs Beeton. She mentions her often. Never in a good way. She says that the original Book of Household Management 'stuff' (she clearly can't bring herself to call it a 'cookbook') is all 'fiddle-faddle'. Fanny blames Mrs Beeton for so many English women failing. She gave all the wrong information. Fanny cannot imagine any professional chef in a professional kitchen wasting their time and money playing the farcical 'games' she outlined. After all, she never had time in her very short life to actually learn how to cook. The only evidence Fanny has seen that she cooked anything came from her sister who remarked that a cake she made when 8 years old 'was a sad failure and turned out like a biscuit'. In what seems to be the ultimate put down, Fanny asserts that Mrs Beeton 'couldn't even fry an egg'.

For Fanny, egg-skills are the most important. Especially for lacto-vegetarians. Especially during Lent. Especially when preparing a buffet for lacto-vegetarian guests during Lent. Not only a time of exclusion, but also a time for frugalness. To confront any nonsense in readers minds that eggs may be an out-of-reach expense, Fanny tells us that she, as a private person, buys her eggs direct from the local farmer at 19p per dozen. Fanny reminds us that any member of the public can do precisely the same thing. If in any doubt, Fanny points out that an egg has the nutritional equivalency to over two ounces of meat, so surely we must accept more readily that 5p is better spent on three fresh eggs than on almost any other foodstuff.

Fanny's point seems to be that the recipes for these lacto-vegetarian (she does love this description!) are good for the household too. As a result of spending prudently on ingredients, we should have more time to spend on cooking them. Apparently. So the less you spend, the more time you have. Great! Making a little go a long way demands more cooking time if what you make is to taste delicious. According to Fanny the only alternative is to cut down on both (and risk a nutritional crisis) and open a tin of something. This can never be a substitute for good cooking. Fanny does say that tins can be superb 'props or aids to good cookery', presumably just in case you happen to own her cookbook devoted to Cooking with Can and Pack in which she does exactly that.

No tins here, this is fresh, locally purchased, farmer approved, lacto-vegetarian fare after all. Oh, except the tin of sweetcorn. She serves it on a bed of 'health' rice, which is brown. All lacto-vegetarians love a bit of brown health. Simply sparkle it up with a hard boiled egg and a dash of paprika. Just like her Mum used to make. The Mushroom and Tomato Bake is layers of mushrooms and tomatoes, chopped roughly, cooked together, then layered with breadcrumbs and milled hazelnuts, also cooked together in butter. With Marjoram in-between each layer. Lacto-Vegetarians, like plain old vegetarians today, love a salad. So Fanny whips up her special Banana, Walnut and Orange Salad of sliced bananas doused in honey and lemon juice, with scattered chopped dates and walnuts, garnished with orange segments. It brings all the lacto-vegetarians to Fanny's yard. Or buffet.

To crown it all off, it has to be more eggs. Stuffed. Boil the economical yet nutritious eggs, peel and carefully slice the top off. Scoop out the yolk, carefully, mix with mayonnaise, ground almonds, grated cheese, a little tomato juice (for 'moistening' purposes), season and then, naturally, pipe it gloriously back into the hollowed out egg. Serve in egg cups stuffed with lettuce leaves. Poor old Mrs Beeton would never manage any of this, but thankfully for us with Fanny's help the buffet is a triumph. It all tastes good, even the Banana Salad. Fanny would never let us fail. Fanny would never let us present 'fiddle-faddle'. Thank heavens for Fanny!

Recalling Appalling Tarpaulin

There's one pudding (yes, just one) that I have really never liked at all, ever. Loathed it. We had it a fair bit when I was young but the thought of it made me feel ill with dread all through the meal. Back then it was a case of 'you are not leaving the table until you've eaten it' so you can imagine me sitting there for hours and hours, wishing and hoping that it would magically disappear, slowly shovelling the smallest amounts into my downturned mouth, trying to force it down. Even today, I shudder when I think about it, such was the horror of the... Rice Pudding.

It was the really thick, absolutely black tar-like canvas-feel topping it had as it emerged from the oven that made me quake. I've heard other people say for them, this is the best bit, but it made me want to heave then, and now, just thinking about it! I didn't want it anywhere near my plate, or my mouth. There's no rhyme or reason for it I suppose. Thankfully Fanny seems to share the repulsion, with her recipe for a colourful, fruity alternative which does not have the 'tarpaulin top' that gives me the heebeegeebees.

Fanny makes her version by mixing Patna Rice with sugar, vanilla, fresh (or tinned) orange juice and ordinary tap water before baking under a light covering of ordinary domestic foil in a medium oven. Fanny doesn't specify a time for this, just until 'it reaches the consistency you like.' Clearly she hasn't been listening, I don't like the consistency at all. I struggled to find pudding rice in the supermarket - clearly I've never searched for it, ever, but I'd assumed it would be easy enough to find. Perhaps the whole world shares my feelings about rice pudding? I did spot some Thai Sticky Rice which said it was ideal for puddings though... Rats, there was no escaping this one!

To spice up the rice a little, I added a few drops of luscious Cardamom Holy Lama Spice Drops which I was very kindly sent recently. Orange and Cardamom are a celestial match. The drops are divine, really intense and as the name suggest, you only need a drop or two. For a pudding like this it seemed to make sense rather than adding ground spices. The heavenly smells coming from my kitchen are making me think that perhaps Rice Pudding might not be so bad after all?

Nothing with Fanny is ever that straightforward, so while the pudding is baking I whip up an accompaniment in the shape of Fried Breaded Bananas. As their name suggests, they are bananas cut down the centre ('because they look prettier'), rolled in beaten egg and enclosed in breadcrumbs before frying. Fanny arranges them in a fan display with a nut on the end, for no apparent reason. They taste like you'd imagine. They don't distract me long from the dreaded rice pudding though - but I needn't have worried. It surfaces without the dreaded tarpaulin top, and retains its orange glow - no black in sight. It's like a jammy marmalade-y risotto consistency, and with the kick of warm cardamom is, erm, lovely really. Just don't make me have that black-topped heavy duty tarpaulin stuff ever again.

We are the Champignons, my friend

To contrast Fanny's first 'Bill of Fare' in this partwork, Menu 2 is hot and seems more homely and comforting for it. Today's starter is a simple soup - Creme Forestière - or plain old Mushroom Soup to you and I. Except, as ever with Fanny, nothing is plain even if it is simple. The main ingredients are mushrooms, shallots and garlic, three of my favourites. 

Fanny suggests using olive oil as always, but I substitute with some Scottish rapeseed oil, which I am sure Fanny would approve of, wouldn't she? Too late. After heating it in a pan with some butter, I add the very finely chopped shallots and cook them gently for 3 minutes. Fanny is very precise here. I then add the chopped mushrooms and grated garlic clove (Fanny recommends a very small one) and cook until they are all tender. No precision time here. 

Once tender, I add some flour and work it up to a rough paste. Fanny insists I use the back of a wooden spoon, but as you can see the rebellious part of me feels inclined to use a spatula, and it works just fine. So, rough paste achieved, time to add in some white wine, gradually. Ah, lovely, wine in soup, Fanny is a genius. Once it's incorporated, Fanny tells me to add in white bone stock - no surprise that I substitute this for a vegetarian alternative. 

The final additions after the stock are some seasoning including nutmeg and single cream. Even before adding the cream, the soup has a creamy and velvety texture, so this feels like a double luxury. The soup has a really vibrant colour thanks to the rapeseed oil - Fanny would be pleased. And that's it. It's very tasty and feels more substantial than it originally seems. The splash of nutmeg lifts it and works well with the shallots particularly. Fanny serves her Creme Forestière in soup cups and saucers designed by Picasso (nothing else would do) with nut sprinkled puff pastry triangles on the side, I chose a more basic bowl.

Fanny opts for another hot main - Le Sandwich Chaud - which she translates as a Family Buffin. It's essentially a homemade burger served in an English Muffin. So, I jump straight to hot pudding. For once it's nothing fancy at all. Baked Bananas. Which of course translates into French as Les Bananes Cuites en Manteaux. Everything sounds better in French. The ingredients again are simple. Erm, bananas.

The bananas are laid on a baking tray and given 20 minutes in a moderate oven. Fanny insists that the blackened skins form part of the presentation - telling me to cut a strip away of the pitch black skin once baked to reveal the flesh. Fanny suggests that dinner guests will really enjoy sprinkling their individual banana with brown sugar, lemon and orange juice. Dinner parties must've been a hoot Chez Cradock.